


Devote

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Tattoos, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8783656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ford shows Bill his new tattoo.





	

Bill is the closest thing to God that Ford has ever, and will ever, have. He sees him in all corners of his life, feels him in his bones; he craves him when he is absent and wants to be devoured by him when he is present. Sometimes Bill is frightening, yes, but so too is any god. To be divine, after all, is to be separate from human.

The initial tattoo is Ford’s idea, as private a thought as any he can have. Bill says nothing about it for the weeks leading up to it – he doesn’t reference it, subtly or otherwise, doesn’t tease Ford for what he must privately think is juvenile and primitive. The tattoo artist does his work with patience and care, dabbing blood away from Ford’s skin while Ford chants to himself, deep in his mind, where he hopes Bill is listening. There are the usual things, incantations that he has found and that Bill has taught him, words in a language he could never hope to understand – but so too there thrums Ford’s devotion. Let it be known;  _I am yours._

He has already taken this to an illogical extreme, so he pushes it even further, knowing that, if nothing else, Bill will be amused by it. Let it be. Ford goes straight from the tattoo parlor to his study. He paints a summoning circle right on the floor, delicate and meticulous. He doesn’t misplace a single drop. He places candles at every intersection, and his crystal pyramids between them. He peels off his coat, and shirt, down to his bare skin and scabbed back. Then, euphoric, he cuts the sixth finger on his right hand. He kneels, and bows, and smears his blood under Bill’s eye.

Ford is ready for Bill’s laughter, his manic disdain and gleeful acceptance of this humble offering. Instead, when Bill appears, he appears as silent as death. Ford hasn’t even realized the summoning was successful until he lifts his head and finds his muse hovering over him, sedate, thoughtful. Ford doesn’t know what to say. He thinks, _I’ve made a mistake._ He thinks, _singular mind in a singular dimension._ He can hear Bill now: _You really are beneath me._

Bill drifts closer. Ford swallows. Slowly, Bill rests his black hand on the upper edge of Ford’s shoulder blade, at the very edge of the circle. Ford flinches. “Stanford,” he says. Ford has never heard him speak like this; he doesn’t know if he should be afraid or exultant, what it might mean to have stunned his muse into silence.

Ford does something he has never considered before, or never dared: He turns his head into Bill, and he presses a kiss just under his eye. Bill flickers. It’s enough to jar Bill back to himself: He twirls his wrist, a cane manifesting in his hand. He taps Ford’s chin with the cane. “Well, well, well, well, well,” he says. “You really are something else.” 

“Do you like it?” Ford asks.

“Like it? Fordsy, this is a whole ‘nother level. If I could, I would burn this moment into every wall of this house. I’d burn it into your mind so you’d remember it in every waking moment. But!” He raps the tattoo with his cane, a little shock of pain going through Ford; he shivers, and he shuts his eyes, welcoming the feeling. “Looks like you’re doing more than enough burning for me.”

“You mean everything to me,” Ford blurts out. He flushes, but he doesn’t try to take it back. That’s what this was about, immortalizing Bill, capturing him in his skin until Ford’s death.

“No,” Bill says. “Not yet. But I will.”


End file.
